<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Katabasis by Nisaki</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28159899">Katabasis</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nisaki/pseuds/Nisaki'>Nisaki</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bottom Sam Winchester, Deals, Demon Dean Winchester, First Time, Guilt, Happy Ending, M/M, Season/Series 10, Set in canon, Top Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:13:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,865</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28159899</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nisaki/pseuds/Nisaki</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean buys Sam's heart. It doesn't go as one would expect</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>213</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Katabasis</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/darklittleheart/gifts">darklittleheart</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello *waves nervously* it's been a while, hasn't it? I hope you guys still remember me lol </p><p>Heya there, darklittleheart! Merry Christmas, I tried to include as many of your likes as I could. Thank you for participating and have great holidays. </p><p>Thanks to the wonderful mods for yet another amazing run. And last but not least, my partner and light <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughableLament/pseuds/LaughableLament">Laughablelament</a>, without you this story wouldn't exist. I adore you.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p><b> <em>Nebraska.</em> </b> </p><p> </p><p>Sam orders another cup of coffee, his stomach churning at the news of more caffeine and nothing else, but he’s got no time to eat, and no patience to spare his aching organs. The pain helps, keeps him grounded, reminds him that Dean isn’t there to nag him and cook for him and force him to eat. Dean is not there and Sam needs him back.</p><p>The article is not front page. It’s hidden between many, less important ones. He still finds it with an ease of a craft well honed by time and practice. A girl has disappeared, the regional FBI is calling the guy The butterfly. Sam scans it with uninterested eyes, the vague feeling of guilt simmers low in his stomach as he flips the paper and covers the lines. </p><p>It’s been six months since Sam walked into Dean’s room and found nothing but a crumbling sticky note and an unmade, empty bed. Cas had disappeared after three months, giving up with the excuse that Dean didn’t want to be found.</p><p>But that was never how it worked for them. It doesn’t matter if Dean doesn’t want to be found, because Sam needs to find him, see him and make sure he’s alive and okay and not controlled by a monster. </p><p><em> He was heavy in Sam’s arms, body cold and unmoving. Dead. The smell of his blood is somehow different than any other’s, it’s Dean’s blood, Sam’s blood; their blood. </em> </p><p>Sam shakes the memory off. Desperation rises up in his chest, taking him back to the dungeon.  </p><p><em> Dammit, Crowley. You got him into this mess, and you will get him out, or so help me God. </em> </p><p>And here, miles away and six months later, Sam still can’t find a trace of his brother nor of the king of the damned. </p><p>He looks down into his half empty cup, his murky reflection on the surface of the coffee, and yet he can see it clearly. Tired lines, sunken eyes, unkempt hair and fear. So much fear. What if he doesn’t ever find Dean? The cup clicks as he places it down stronger than he should. He can’t drop the bills fast enough, his hand shaking and he tails it out of there, uncaring about how crazy he might seem. He should look crazy, he <em> feels </em> crazy. Frantic and unhinged, no Dean to keep him sane.</p><p>Outside, he takes a long breath, drops his head back. The sun warms his face, but his insides remain icy cold. </p><p>He’s followed a feeble lead, some unrecognizable shade in a security camera, and now he doesn’t think his brother is here. No matter how many people he asks, no one has seen Dean. </p><p>“Mr. Kilmister?” </p><p>Sam jumps, turns around to find a sharp dressed, well built man. His blue eyes calculating, and his mouth too thin. His hair cut short, gray with patches of black. He’s looking at Sam like he’s expecting Sam to know him. Sam has no memory of the man, he does recognize his allies, however. </p><p>“Yes, can I help you?” He offers his hand for a shake.</p><p>“Terrence Clegg. I was hoping I could help <em> you </em>,” The man says then retrieves a small pack of papers and starts flipping through. He shows Sam a picture of Dean. A slightly better version of the surveillance footage that’s led him all the way here. Dean is turned, most of his face is bathed in shadow, but it’s him.</p><p>“You were going around asking about him, correct?”</p><p>Sam nods. </p><p>“We don’t know if he’s still in town, but we have the whole video if you want to see it. He's been causing a lot of problems, actually.”</p><p>“Who is ‘we’?” </p><p>Clegg tilts his head, drags his gaze up and down Sam slowly. There’s no heat in the look, just calculating; sizing him up. It irritates Sam, but he keeps his emotions in check. This could be a lead to Dean.</p><p>“We’re following this case,” Clegg starts up, “Your guy has been involved in too many fights. We: Two of my colleagues and I, we're private investigators. This guy is accused of murder, but we still don't have enough evidence, and I've heard you're looking for him so I thought you might know something we don’t.”</p><p>Sam doesn't even need to consider it. He agrees and follows Clegg to his office.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Sam wakes up tied down, the straps choking him, his arms fixed to his sides, and his ankles tied to the opposite ends of the table. To his side, Clegg is standing with a big smile.</p><p>Sam looks around the room, the man in the mask, the camera and the open laptop, the blood staining the floor. Pieces of the article he was reading this morning flash through his mind, and he connects the dots.</p><p>“You’re the butterfly.” His bonds are too tight, but not tight enough to cut circulation. It’s never a good sign.</p><p>Clegg’s smile turns gleeful. “And you’re Sam Winchester. I got an anonymous tip, some monster saw you and was terrified. I thought selling you in pieces would make my customers feel better.”</p><p>“I’m not here to shut you down. Just tell me about Dean and I’ll be out of your hair.” He feels burning acid rise up in his esophagus, and he forces himself to swallow it down. The sickening scent of blood makes him think about the people who died here, and he’s sorry, but he isn’t here for this. He’ll come back, clean this up when he finds Dean.</p><p>“So it’s true,” Clegg says, clicking his tongue like he’s truly disappointed. “I heard rumors about you two being obsessed with each other, I mean you stay in the business long enough you’re bound to hear about the Winchesters' legends.”</p><p>He turns around and points to the man behind the camera, puts on a mask that Sam can’t see. Sam glances to the side, the laptop set near enough for him to catch the bigger words. AUCTION is typed in white letters, everything else a blur. Sam shifts his body a bit, his head throbs but he doesn’t remember being hit and he’s weak, his muscles feel like they’re liquid. He’s been drugged. Must be the coffee Clegg offered him in the office. He doubts that he would’ve been able to free himself had he not been drugged, but he has even less chances with the way his body is.</p><p>“Ladies and Gentlemen! We interrupt your regularly scheduled program to bring you something truly special. A new auction! Introducing Mr. Sam Winchester.”</p><p>Sam slumps down onto the table, thinks this is it. He failed to save Dean, failed to save whomever was lying on this table before him. He can’t muster the will to fight, too many sleepless nights and so little food and too much fear have all left him exhausted. Perhaps it’s time for him to give up, being torn apart seems like a fitting end to him, eaten by the very monsters he hunts. </p><p>“Let’s start the auction on Sam Winchester’s heart! Fifty thousand, do I have sixty? Look at that jump one hundred thousand! Remember folks, there’s many pieces of Sam Winchester, but there’s only one heart. Look at that! Five hundred thousand!”</p><p>Clegg babbles on but Sam is dumbstruck by the number, that someone is willing to pay so much for his heart. Clegg is about to shout the end, but the number doubles and Sam gasps. Clegg is rightfully losing it, a million dollar for Sam’s tired, bruised heart. Sounds like a really crappy deal. This guy must really hate Sam.</p><p>The laptop peeps again, and Clegg stares at it. Sam can’t see the comments being written from where he is, but Clegg seems to be considering it.</p><p>“Ladies and gentlemen. This gentleman here is asking for the whole thing, he’s paid a million for the heart and offering three times that price if he gets Sam Winchester alive and whole, do I get a better offer?”</p><p>Sam starts laughing, hysterical and unbelieving. This person definitely has a grudge, and he wants Sam alive so he can kill him himself, slow and painful. </p><p>Clegg shuts the laptop down and turns to Sam, half his face covered with a pig mask. He looks positively vile, his teeth all showing, more a monster than Sam’s ever killed.</p><p>“Mr. Winchester, you’ve got quite the fans. Three million!” Clegg gloats. “I don’t have anything to drug you with at the moment, since I was ready to tear you apart, you see this is most unexpected.”</p><p>Sam rolls his eyes. “What is it with you and long, boring monologues? Do you like to listen to yourself, is that it?” </p><p>A hand fists in his hair and pulls back. Sam smiles, “Sure you want to damage the goods? Didn’t your friend demand I be unharmed?” </p><p>Clegg grins at him, then the back of his hand connects with Sam’s cheek. “He said alive and whole, but nothing else.” Then another hit to the face, this one harder. Sam’s eyes swim, the inside of his mouth is bleeding, whether it’s teeth or gums he isn’t sure. He gathers it and spits in Clegg’s face. Clegg slaps him again, a smile curls his lips as his hand connects with Sam’s cheek, some blood getting on it. He retrieves a handkerchief, wipes his cheek and his hand, then takes a long breath before the soft smile he was wearing returns. </p><p>“I’ll tell you this once: You don’t kill me now, I’ll be back to kill you,” Sam promises. Taking him alive is a chance. Who knows where Sam might land, he can roll with this. Clegg is stupidly unconcerned, he doesn’t know the number of monsters who smiled at Sam while tied up, only to die by his blade or gun. He doesn’t care one bit that Clegg is a human, all he can think about is that he has promised to give him information about Dean and lied. </p><p>A door creaks, a man appears to hand Clegg a syringe and Clegg bares Sam’s forearm, injecting him with an accuracy that makes Sam sure he’s done this before. Sam drifts off, the last thing he hears is Dean’s voice.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>When he comes to again, he’s unbound and lying in a comfortable bed. He turns around, inspecting the room. The room is spacious, decorated simply. The big bed he’s sitting on, a nightstand, a small closet, a table with two chairs and nothing else. There are no windows, two doors; one he assumes leads to a bathroom. All the walls are off-white, and everything is made of old-looking wood. The air smells weird, like something he’s smelled before but can’t place because it’s too faint. </p><p>He removes the covers and gets up. His clothes were changed. He’s in a white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, both of them a perfect fit, his feet are bare. </p><p>The door is locked, and Sam doesn’t want to try to force it open without knowing where he is. Too much noise this early on is never good, the other door indeed leads to a bathroom. The shower stall is high enough to accommodate him, and the tub is big, can easily fit two of him. He squints his eyes at the gleaming porcelain, rubs at his face. He catches sight of his reflection, a bruise on his cheek where Clegg hit him. It doesn’t hurt unless he presses it, nothing broken.</p><p>On the sink, a purple toothbrush, toothpaste and many towels are hung on the side. Things that would make him a guest if he weren’t over-priced merchandise. </p><p>The bottle of shampoo gives him pause. It’s the brand he always uses.</p><p>It’s not a coincidence. Whoever bought him knows him well enough to get his shampoo and there’s only one person who knows Sam that well. </p><p>The door creaks and he rushes out of the bathroom.</p><p>Breath leaves him and his knees turn weak as he faces the man at the door.</p><p>“Heya, Sammy.”</p><p>“Dean,” Sam breathes. His heartbeats erratic. His thoughts come to a halt, his brain shutting down and everything in him starts demanding he go to Dean. His logic has always been flawed when it came to his brother, getting a bit worse every year, every death, every separation. He takes a hesitant step closer, thoughts about silver and holy water faint. Another step, then Dean smiles, opens his arms.</p><p>“No hug for me?”</p><p>In hindsight that should’ve been his first warning, but instead of stopping to consider, he throws himself at Dean, arms around his neck, holding him as hard as he can. He closes his eyes, breathes in. Dean’s smell, sweat and leather, fills his nostrils and he almost sobs. Six months, too long, too much.</p><p>Dean’s hands move over his back, settle low on his hips, and Sam frowns. They don’t touch there. He’s about to step back, but Dean’s hold tightens. Dean’s smell is spiced by something else, something that Sam has smelt the moment he woke up.</p><p>Sulphur. </p><p>He pushes hard, frees himself. His eyes lock with Dean’s, and his breath catches in his throat. Black. Dean’s eyes are completely black.</p><p>Sam walks backward,  his back flush to the wall; keeps his eyes on the demon possessing Dean. Possessing Dean’s <em> corpse </em>. His eyes well up, and his breathing becomes labored. </p><p>“Get out of him,” he says, but his voice is weak. His knees are shaking. He’s thought about it, about how Dean left that bed after he-</p><p><em> So much blood, there’s so much blood. On Sam’s hands and clothes, the smell of it turning Sam’s stomach. It has a sickening sweetness to it. Unlike anything else. Dean’s blood, Sam’s blood; </em> their <em> blood. And he doesn’t know, can’t tell the difference. Which one of them is bleeding, who’s the one dying, he’s- </em></p><p>“Get out of him!” He shouts. The demon laughs.</p><p>“It’s me, Sammy―”</p><p>“Don’t call me that!”</p><p>He looks around, desperately trying to find something to fight with. There’s nothing here but useless furniture, nothing that can hurt a demon. His heartbeat is still irregular, pumping blood too fast, getting him dizzy. Dean’s body, defiled by a low demon and he’s going to kill them all, starting with this one and ending with Crowley.</p><p>“I will kill you,” he vows, and he can hear the hatred in his voice, vicious, terrifying. He’s shaking with it, anger burning so hot it almost blinds him.  </p><p>The demon stares at him, lifts his head up and rubs at his jaw. There’s stubble on his cheeks, his hair is longer than Dean’s was when he…when he. Sam blinks. </p><p>“I know you caught on, too smart, Sammy. I’ll leave you to decide what you want to believe.” </p><p>The door clicks shut. Sam’s legs give out, and he slides down the wall, ass hits the ground. He can finally breathe, finally think without that thing in the room with him. </p><p>Longer hair. Stubble. It’s not a corpse, Demons can’t do that. What they can do is keep the corpse from decaying but not fix or change. Never grow things. He covers his face with both hands, eyes stinging again, this time with relief. That’s not a demon in Dean’s dead body. It’s Dean. Possessed by a demon, but alive. And that’s a good place to start. Sam can fix this, can save him. Take him home.</p><p>That line though.</p><p>
  <em> Too smart, Sammy. </em>
</p><p>Demons can be really good when possessing someone, and maybe if it was back when they were still relearning each other again, Sam would've missed it. But he knows Dean too well to be tricked by a demon, and despite the alarm bells ringing in his ears, his first instinct was to run and hug him. Sam can't really explain it, but he's tuned to his brother in ways that go beyond possession and mind control, and as long as Dean's alive he can <em> feel </em> it. Like a hum under his skin, like his very soul is trying to go to Dean.</p><p>He can tell himself that his brother is possessed a million times, but he'd be lying to himself because he knows. It <em> is </em> Dean.</p><p> </p><p>He gets up, settles on the bed again. He needs to calm down, evaluate the whole picture instead of fragments. He was sold in that twisted auction, and someone bought him for three million. So Dean must’ve arrived before the transaction was made, got Sam here. Something doesn’t sit well with him, too many maybes and question marks in this scenario. He walks to the door, turns the handle and his heart drops when he finds it locked. </p><p>Dean wouldn't lock him up, at least not in normal circumstances. That demon is his brother but he's not the one who wants Sam here, not the one who bought him. Dean didn’t break the transaction, he was sent to <em> fetch </em> Sam up. A growl rumbles in his chest, thinking about Dean being ordered like that. No one else left to blame. Someone who has enough money and arrogance to try this.</p><p>Crowley.</p><p>Sam’s nose flares. He’s going to fucking <em> kill </em> him.</p><p>A while passes. Sam has nothing to do but think, and that’s never been a good thing. There’s no clock on the wall, and no natural light to tell him the time, but he guesses it’s nearly three hours after he talked to Dean. He paces, looks through the drawers and the closet, finding them empty of course. He has nothing here. </p><p>Trying the door again is pointless, but he does so every few minutes. His legs jump when he’s seated, and his hands itch for something to do. This is the worst kind of torture. </p><p>The door handle squeaks and his head whips to face the sound, holding his breath. The newcomer is a woman, can’t be over thirty. From how much she’s uninterested in him, Sam guesses she’s not a demon. She pushes in a trolley with her, clothes and towels and food. </p><p>Sam glances at the food, two types of salads, and roasted chicken breast. A bottle of water, and a glass of juice. Sam scowls at it, but figures if he wants to get out of here, he can’t afford to starve, and with how much they spent on him, and all the trouble with the room he doubts they want to kill him. </p><p>“Hey, do you know where we are?” He asks. The woman stares at him for a long while, then leaves.</p><p>Great. He’s being ignored.</p><p>He tries to eat, makes it through one salad and barely a few morsels of the chicken before he feels like throwing up. He gives himself a few minutes before he drinks the juice. The water bottle is of the liter and a half, so that’s all he’s getting for today.  </p><p>He takes a shower, clothes are a perfect fit. They’re not fancy but they’re not the tired things he gets from goodwill. Like something he might’ve bought if he had an honest work. It’s all small details, things that Dean would know, and it serves nothing but to make his blood boil. Once he’s dressed he looks down at his bare feet, they brought him no shoes. It’s a clear message; he’s got nowhere to go.</p><p>His next visitor is Crowley. The second he steps in, Sam lunges at him, managing to hit him square in the jaw before he’s sent flying and pinned down to the mattress. He grits his teeth, tries to move but it’s no use. Crowley closes the door, drags one of the chairs near the bed and sits down. He smiles at Sam, that all-knowing grin that makes Sam want to punch his face again. </p><p>“Well, well. Aren’t you an angry moose today.”</p><p>“Screw you.”</p><p>Crowley clicks his tongue, “No need to be so hostile, we’re just chatting. I came to see the accommodations. Less fancy than I thought they’d be.” </p><p>Sam tries to lift the arm closer to Crowley, but the only thing he accomplishes is to make Crowley’s smile more smug. </p><p>“You ordered the accommodations,” he hisses. Crowley shakes his head slowly.</p><p>“Moose, you’ve got it wrong. I had no hand in bringing you here, well, apart from providing the money <em> Dean </em>bought you with.” He winks at Sam.</p><p>“My brother is dead Crowley, I know you’re having some freaking demon parading in his meatsuit-”</p><p>“Moose, Moose. You haven’t allowed yourself to dream quite big enough yet.” Crowley starts.</p><p>
  <em> Bingo. </em>
</p><p>If there’s something Crowley loves more than listening to his own voice, it’s telling people they’re wrong in the most condescending way possible. Such a combination makes him easy to interrogate without him even knowing. Now Crowley can’t resist to brag about his superior knowledge. </p><p>“Your brother is very much alive, courtesy of The Mark. The only demonized soul inside of Dean is his and his alone. A wee bit more twisted, a little more mangled beyond human recognition but I can assure you all his. There now, feel better?”</p><p>“And what about keeping me here, how does Dean feel about this double cross?”</p><p>“If that’s what you think is happening then you’re more an idiot than I thought.”</p><p>Sam’s nostrils flair, “I don’t know what kind of stunt you pulled, what kind of black magic-”</p><p>“Ah ah ah, Moose. I told you, this―” he points with his hands at the room, then Sam “isn’t my idea. I was happy with the previous arrangement, us traveling together, having fun.”</p><p>Sam growls, and Crowley laughs “Now, now. Hear me out, I’m here to help. The last thing I want here is you, we all know how you get Squirrel all...messed up.”</p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p>Crowley shrugs “To tell you the truth, I’m quite bored of him, so I thought I might help you get him back.” There’s something weird about the way he says bored, something that catches Sam’s attention. Crowley looks back to the door, then gets up.</p><p>“I should leave now.” </p><p>Sam’s free, breath coming easier. “If you’re not the one who brought me here then who?” </p><p>“I told you, it’s Dean. He somehow caught wind of you being sold in the meat market, and wasted so much of my money buying you.” </p><p>“Exactly!” Sam booms, getting up. “Why would Dean <em> buy </em> me? If he wanted to save me, he could’ve walked in and killed that bastard.” </p><p>“Because,” Crowley says, tilting his head to the side, “he didn’t want to <em> save </em> you, he wanted to <em> own </em> you.”  </p><p>Sam raises his brows, his eyes widen. Crowley turns around, opening the door and his mouth, ready to say his goodbyes.</p><p>“Where are we, Crowley?” </p><p>“Hell.”</p><p>The door clicks shut.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The food is cold, but it’s still better than some of the things he’s had, so he finishes it. The same woman comes to take the empty dishes, and this time Sam doesn’t bother talking to her. They’re in hell, Sam adds her to the list of demons he’s going to kill when he gets out of here. </p><p>No one comes after, and Sam struggles to stay awake, but without the coffee he grew dependent on, he falls into restless sleep. </p><p>He wakes up to Dean watching him, sitting on the end of the bed near Sam’s feet. Sam has quick reflexes, he’s a light sleeper, but somehow both these things never worked with Dean. </p><p>“Slept well, little brother?”</p><p>He sounds the same as always, voice deep and a bit raspy. His eyes green enough for Sam to get lost in them, and his lips have a ghost of a smile on them. He doesn’t look drained, that bone deep tiredness that he’s always carried around seems to have vanished in the past six months. </p><p>“Why are we here, Dean?” He asks.</p><p>“Oh so no more get out of him now? What changed your mind?”</p><p>“Your hair,” Sam says. Dean squints. “And the stubble,” Sam finishes, hand coming up to smooth over his own chin. To his surprise, he’s got no stubble himself, he should've grown some by now. His surprise must be showing because the next words from Dean answer him.</p><p>“You’re a living human, time doesn’t work for you here.”</p><p>“So what, I don’t grow up?”</p><p>“Yes.” Dean doesn’t explain more, doesn’t say anything. He moves closer though, settles so he’s beside Sam’s hip. He cups Sam’s face and Sam startles but doesn’t pull away. Dean’s hand is warm, calluses exactly in the places Sam remembers. Sam stares into his brother’s eyes. Knows that Dean is keeping them green for his sake.</p><p>“Why are we here?” He hopes that <em> Here </em> will encompass his questions and keep him sounding ignorant, <em> here </em> locked up. <em> Here </em>, not home in the bunker.</p><p>Dean doesn’t seem to hear him, he’s looking at Sam like he’s spellbound. His thumb brushes over Sam’s bruise, then his hand slides down, fingers tracing the line of Sam’s jaw, down the curve of his neck. Instinctively, Sam cranes his head to the side, constructed to follow Dean’s lead even when he’s not sure where he’s taking him. Dean parts his lips, expression on his face one of wonder.</p><p>“Sam,” he breathes, leans in and touches his lips to Sam’s. </p><p>It feels a bit like being hit by lightning, everything in him jolting, energized and burnt out. He doesn't move, can’t breathe. Two seconds pass before he gets his wits about him and pushes Dean away.</p><p>“Dean, what the―” His words are muffled by another kiss, this one more demanding, Dean’s tongue making its way inside his mouth and Sam almost responds, but he remembers. Dean is a demon.</p><p>He Places his palms against Dean’s chest and shoves with all of his might. Dean moves back but not by far, still looking entranced.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Sammy,” Dean whispers, pained. Sam keeps one hand on Dean’s chest, maintaining the distance between them. </p><p>Dean’s heart is beating fast. </p><p>Sam takes in a shaky breath, tries to not let that distract him. He removes his hand when it proves difficult to ignore. </p><p>“What are you trying to play at?” He bites out. Sam has always wanted this. Has hinted at it more than once, and got brushed off. A gentle let down to his subtle prodding, because they never talk about things that hurt.</p><p>“I bought your heart,” Dean says, his tone the one he uses for every lame joke and pick up line, “you should be in love with me.”</p><p>Said heart nearly gives out, Sam resist the urge to clutch at it.</p><p>“We’re brothers.”</p><p>“Already in Hell, Sammy.”</p><p>And God, the way he's looking at Sam, like he can't bear to look away, like nothing else is worth his attention.</p><p> “You’re not feeling guilty, you <em> can’t </em> feel guilty.” And if he can’t feel guilt, he can’t feel anything else. He’s doing this just because he can, because he’s a demon and it doesn’t mean the same to him anymore. Sam wants Dean, but not like this.</p><p>“I don’t want this.” For a split second, Sam thinks Dean might not care about that, too. But Dean gets up, walks to the table and takes a seat. He’s looking at his feet, his mouth set into a scowl.</p><p>“You do want it,” he says at last. “And we’ll get there. I’ll wait, I’ve got nothing but time.” He cracks his neck, gets up and struts to the door, locks eyes with Sam over his shoulders.</p><p>“You asked me why we’re here.”</p><p>Sam nods. Dean faces the door, the lines of his back tense for the first time since he was here. “It’s because this place is mine, and I need to stay.”</p><p>
  <em> This place is mine. </em>
</p><p>He jumps off of the bed; runs but Dean is out before he can reach him and the door locks behind him. Sam bangs on the door, not caring one bit about noise now. He hits it and shouts Dean’s name, demanding to be let out. No one answers him.</p><p>If Dean’s calling the place his, that’s Sam’s answer for why Crowley is ‘bored’ of him. Dean has taken over, and Crowley is pissed but can’t do anything about it and now that Sam’s here, he wants to help Sam take Dean off of his hands. Which means, for now, Sam can trust him. He doesn't like that option, working with Crowley is tricky business at best and a death wish at worst, and Sam can’t forget the people Crowley has killed. He’s not opposed to working with him if it means getting his brother back, but it has to be a last resort and Sam hasn’t tried all of his options yet. </p><p>He stays by the door, plastering his back to the wall and he waits. It takes a while, but the sounds of footsteps reach his ears, and he holds his breath. The second the door opens and the demon walks in with his breakfast, Sam kicks her into the room and runs out, closing the door on her.  </p><p> A long corridor, brick walls and marble tiles, there’s no source of light but Sam can see perfectly. Unlike his room that’s designed to look human, everything about the place feels unnatural. It reeks of sulphur, he covers his nose with the back of his hand. The sounds disappear into the space, everything muffled. He can’t hear his steps, can’t hear his breath, like everything out of him doesn’t exist.</p><p>He walks and walks, the corridor goes on and on, his breath becomes labored and his muscles ache, and still the corridor drags forward. The walls are narrowing, light dimming, and the more he walks the less air there is. The place tilts to the side, blurs. He closes his eyes, shakes his head, when he opens them again he’s in front of the room he’s being kept in. </p><p>Fuck. </p><p>He takes a deep breath, turns to try the opposite direction and nearly jumps out of his skin as he comes face to face with a smirking Crowley.</p><p>“Hello, Moose. Taking a walk?” </p><p>Sam presses his lips into a line. Crowley shrugs. “It’s Dean keeping you here, did you really think it’s just a locked door he’s counting on? He of all people knows better than to underestimate you like that.”</p><p>Crowley  opens the door, entering the room and keeping the door open for him like a valet. The demon is out, she’s left the food and cleaned the room like nothing is amiss. It leaves a bad taste in Sam’s mouth.</p><p>“You acted high and mighty, but you’re scared of him aren’t you?” </p><p>Crowley walks to one of the chairs and sits down. He eyes the food with disdain but thankfully he doesn’t make a snotty remark. </p><p>“We’re all scared of him, he’s a bit trigger happy, and unpredictable. He didn’t want to hear your name for months, and then all of a sudden, I found out he had demons keeping tabs on you. When he paid that Clegg, I connected the dots.” He gestures for Sam to take a seat, and knowing him he probably won’t answer more questions unless Sam does. </p><p>The breakfast is eggs and sliced vegetables. It’s funny how Dean always complained about Sam’s preference for rabbit food, and now he’s serving it willingly. </p><p>“All part of wooing you, I assume,” Crowley chimes in like he’s been listening to his thoughts. </p><p>“He’s not wooing me,” Sam snaps.</p><p>“No? Moose, you’re clueless.” </p><p>“Are you going to help me or not?”</p><p>“Of course. I offered, didn’t I? What do you need?”</p><p>“I can’t do the cure here, so you need to get us out.”</p><p>Crowley hums, “Can’t do that I’m afraid, Dean doesn’t go up anymore. We don’t really know why and he’s told us anyone who as much as thinks about coming here to you without his explicit orders will...regret it deeply. His words.” He looks Sam up and down and lifts his brows. “You, however, are a different story. I think you can convince him to go up with you. One way or another,” Crowley leers, putting so much suggestion into the last words Sam almost punches him again. </p><p>Sam doesn’t dignify that with an answer. </p><p>“I’ll do my part though, prepare your things. Blood, the magical cuffs, a place with a demon trap.”</p><p>“Yeah, my things at the motel. Can you get those? I don’t know if they’re still there.” </p><p>“They are, you’ve been here less than an hour in earth time.”</p><p>Right, time works differently in hell.  </p><p>“But, getting them here will be risky. Dean might see them and kill me.”Crowley does have a point, but Sam feels too exposed like this. He wants his salt and knives and holy water.</p><p>“I’ll just drop them for you in the place we agree on.”</p><p>“And where’s that?”</p><p>“Not sure yet, I’ll need three hours topside to arrange things, which gives you fifteen days to work on Dean here. Once he’s out of here, you’ll get your things back and you can trap him. How about I drop them in the car, and you can drive him back to your castle?”</p><p>Sam lifts his head up fast at the mention of the impala “Dean left it,” he says with wonder.</p><p>“Not really, he parked it in one of my houses.”</p><p>For Dean that’s as good as abandoning it. Dean will hate that she’s been alone. </p><p>Alone.</p><p>Like Sam was for six months.</p><p>“How long was Dean here?”</p><p>Crowley doesn’t answer, he stands up, points to the table and orders Sam to eat.</p><p>“Answer the question!”</p><p>“A long time, forty years, maybe more. He misses you.”</p><p>
  <em> If he missed me so much, why didn’t he come back? </em>
</p><p>Sam stares as Crowley opens the door and leaves, and tries to imagine living forty years without Dean. The idea causes him physical pain, and he shakes his head in an attempt to not think about it. His eyes settle on the door handle once more, and something occurs to him. He’s the only one who can’t open the door from the inside, and the maze outside works on only him, too. A spell then, but which one.</p><p>Dammit, he really misses his laptop and WiFi.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>Sam steps into the tub, his clothes thrown over the tiles. The pressure is perfect, hot water cascading down his arms and steam fogging up the bathroom, makes the air heavy and warm. Sam closes his eyes, listening to the sound of the water as it hits the porcelain. He lifts his face up, allows the shower to slick his hair back. </p><p>He’s trying to forget the words, erase the leer that was on Crowley’s face from his memory.</p><p>
  <em> One way or another. </em>
</p><p>No genius needed to decipher the meaning of that. </p><p>It makes him think about Dean’s visit. He can still feel Dean’s lips against his, the only thing that’s felt real in this place.</p><p>He climbs out of the tub, swipes the condensation off of the mirror and stares at his reflection. The bruise on his cheek is still purple, and he figures it won’t heal, just like his beard won’t grow. Out of time, unchanged.</p><p>He touches his fingers to his lips, pushes a bit, leans closer to the mirror. A kiss with Dean should’ve left physical evidence, time or not, Hell or not. He should look different.</p><p>His lips are the same. </p><p>Inside, he’s messed up.</p><p>He dresses in sweats and a t-shirt, throws himself at the bed. His wet hair sticking to his nape, cold and uncomfortable against the pillow but he doesn’t have the energy to get up and dry it properly. His lids get heavy and he hopes to sleep.</p><p>His chest constricts, and he turns his head to the door. He can’t hear any sound from outside, but he knows even before the door handle turns. Dean. </p><p>“You should get me a clock,” Sam starts, “and some books. I’m going crazy.”</p><p>Dean closes the door and walks to the bed, he sits beside Sam’s feet. </p><p>“We’re not even together yet and you’re nagging like a wife, Sammy,” Dean jokes.  Dean often jokes about things he wants and thinks he won’t get. Crowley’s leer flashes in Sam’s mind.</p><p>"Consider it as my bride price,” Sam snaps, “but you’ve already bought me. Right, Dean?”</p><p>“Sam.”</p><p>“What, you really thought I wasn’t going to talk about it? Why did you do that?”</p><p>“Because I knew you would’ve never agreed to come here.”</p><p>“And what, you think paying some money would change that? You can’t buy me, Dean. Certainly not from Clegg.” </p><p>Instead of an answer, Dean moves closer. Sam instinctively leans harder against the headboard, and like he’s trapped in a magnetic field, Dean follows him. Dean settles a hand on his cheek, sweeps a gentle thumb on the bruise of his cheekbone, pressing. Sam lets out a small breath and Dean stops his thumb.</p><p>“Let me heal you,” he says, eyes fixed on the bruise. </p><p>“Demons can’t do that.”</p><p>Dean smiles. “I can if you make a deal with me.”</p><p>Sam snorts. “Like I’d sell my soul for a bruise.”</p><p>Dean tilts his head to the side, his gaze so intense Sam fights the urge to squirm in place. </p><p>“It doesn’t have to be your soul. Deals are about getting something for both of us.” Dean’s swaying in, getting closer with every word until there’s only a few inches between them. Sam’s heart drums. His throat clicks before his next words.</p><p>“And what do you want in return?”</p><p>Dean licks his lips. “A kiss,” he whispers. Sam’s breath hitches. He opens his mouth, not sure whether he’s going to agree or refuse but Dean goes on.</p><p>“Just a kiss, and you word your wish for you to be healed, so anything wrong can be fixed. It’s a good deal.”</p><p>“Dean.”</p><p>Dean leans in, angling his head like he is going to attach their mouths, but he stops with a hair of space between them. Sam can feel his hot breath, can smell him, leather and smoke and a hint of sulphur. </p><p>“Yeah, Sammy?”</p><p>Sam gulps. “Yes, okay. I want you to heal me.”</p><p>Dean crushes their mouths together and Sam groans, his eyes slipping shut and his lips parting. His hands move up and he intends to push Dean away but he clings to his arms instead, sliding down on the pillows as Dean cages him in and climbs onto the bed fully. He gets his knee between Sam’s legs, not pressing against where Sam’s hardening but Sam can feel the heat of it. Dean pulls away and Sam follows, head leaving the pillow to keep their lips attached.</p><p>Dean laughs and Sam opens his eyes . Panting up at Dean. Dean’s fingers pass through his hair, touch his cheek, caress Sam’s bottom lip. </p><p>“It’s a deal.”</p><p>Sam almost loses all of his thoughts. This was sealing the deal kiss. Dean leans in again, his lips tender as he touches them to Sam’s cheekbone. Sam can feel it, feel Dean’s energy flowing like a current under his skin and crackling along his spine. He’s better at once, no bone pains, no insistent headache around the corner of his brain. He takes in a sharp breath, blinks up at Dean and Dean responds with a grin.</p><p>“Now for my payment.”</p><p>Sam nods, tipping his chip up like he’s been drugged and melting into the pillows as Dean kisses him. It’s slower than the first kiss, deeper and sweeter and more dangerous. Sam can’t feel himself where he’s not touching Dean, can’t string two thoughts together.</p><p>He had a reason this wasn’t good, but he keeps kissing back, opening up and giving in and he doesn’t remember why he thought to stop this. Instead of trying to resist and think, he parts his legs and Dean hums into the kiss and slots right between them, pushing his hard dick onto Sam’s. Sam’s hip jolts up, electricity zigzagging through him and he lifts his legs and hooks them on Dean’s hips, drags him closer, tightens his hold on Dean’s arms. </p><p>Dean groans, bites on his bottom lip and sucks it in, gnaws on it until it’s tender and swollen. He pulls back and Sam lifts his lids.</p><p>Dean’s eyes are pools of black, bottomless pits that threaten to swallow him whole. Sam’s daze shatters, all heat bleeds out of him, leaving him cold and shivery. He turns to his side and curls on himself. His legs are still on either side of Dean and it makes him vulnerable in a way he can’t deal with right now. </p><p>“That’s enough,” he rasps, his voice like broken glass, scratching his throat. “You said a kiss.”</p><p>Dean makes a confused sound. Sam pulls his legs up and Dean moves back, allows him to fully fold his body. </p><p>“What the fuck, Sam.”</p><p>Sam doesn’t answer. He closes his eyes and forces his breaths to slow down, his heart thundering and even behind his closed lids, he can see Dean’s black, black eyes. </p><p>A demon.</p><p>Because Dean in his right mind would never touch Sam like that, even if he wanted to. Not his little brother. Dean who’s made of guilt and too much responsibility and self-blame. He’d never ever dare to kiss Sam like this. </p><p>The door’s click is soft but he jolts like it’s been slammed. </p><p>He stays as he is, and he wonders if Dean’s powers can take this pain away, if he got another healing kiss, perhaps this sickness will go away too. He takes the bitter taste of self-loathing and the sharp sting of sulphur from Dean’s tongue to sleep with him. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>His room is invaded by loud demons, and he wakes up to their clutter as they swarm in through the door and start hammering and knocking. He sits in his bed, stomach churning and teeth grinding each other. His fingers digging into his upper thighs as he watches them go about. They’re building up shelves on the wall opposite to him. The bare paint is covered, side to side and floor to ceiling by shelves in less than twenty minutes, then the shelves are stacked with books. Books and books and more books. Sam considers the possibility that he’s dreaming, it’s all so very surreal. </p><p>After the books are arranged. One of the demons turns to the other wall, hammers in a single nail then hangs a circular clock. Sam stares at it, at the ticking arms and the latin numbers and they don’t make sense to him. </p><p>
  <em> “You should get me a clock, and some books. I’m going crazy.” </em>
</p><p>Oh. </p><p>The demons leave his room and it feels empty and weird. He turns his back on the door, curls and the ticking of the clock fills his ears.</p><p>Tick tock. Tick tock.</p><p>He shouldn’t have asked for a clock. He shouldn’t have asked for anything. Now he has another thing to love Dean for, like he’s ever needed more.</p><p>He counts his breaths with the clock, counts his heartbeats. Waits for sleep to claim him but it doesn’t come. Three hours later,- and God, he knows they’re three hours now, because he asked and Dean gave and this demon has no business acting like his real brother- his door is opened. </p><p>It’s not Dean. He knows without looking because the hair on his nape stands on end and his skin breaks into goosebumps. </p><p>“Hello, Moose.” </p><p>Sam sighs and gets up. Crowley is making a big show of looking around, his face an impressed expression.</p><p>“Love what you’ve done with the place. I see our...King has been very accommodating.” </p><p>Sam doesn’t answer, he’s never been in the mood for Crowley’s games, but he’s extra not in the mood for it now. </p><p>“Ah, Moose. Scowling isn’t pretty, we want to be pretty for Dean, now don’t we?”</p><p>“Shut up,” Sam snaps. Crowley laughs. </p><p>“I got you these,” Crowley says, offering him two familiar items. The demon hand cuffs and Ruby’s knife. </p><p>“That was fast. I thought you needed a few days.”</p><p>Crowley tilts his head to the side, does that annoying thing with his jaw that makes Sam want to punch him then smirks. </p><p>“I decided to hurry things along. I don’t want your brother here.” </p><p>Sam takes the cuffs and the knife and Crowley lifts a brow at him, like maybe he’s waiting for Sam to praise him. Sam heaves a sigh.</p><p>“Thanks,” he says. Crowley puffs his chest. Sam will never get Crowley’s boner for approval but he doesn’t really care so he turns to his bed, shoves both items underneath his mattress. He hears the door closing after Crowley and he feels relieved. </p><p>Alone again, his eyes dart around the room, the books and the clock. He shakes his head and walks to the bed, firmly resolved to sleep. He pulls the covers over him and squeezes his eyes shut, promising himself that he won’t touch any of the books Dean’s brought him.</p><p>He falls asleep with that idea fading away in his brain.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Dean ignores him for three days. </p><p>During that time Sam breaks and reads some of the books. They’re good books, some of his favorites, and some he’d wanted to read but never got the time to. He catches himself smiling at the title in his hand, flipping through pages, his heart fluttering. Then he blames himself and sets the book aside and as Dean would put it, <em> broods </em>. </p><p>Dean enters the room just as Sam gives up and picks the book again. He jolts and the book nearly falls out of his hands, but Dean’s behind him in less than a blink, catching it and placing it on the table, face down so Sam won’t lose his page.</p><p>He sets both hands on Sam’s shoulders and Sam straightens up, stiffens. </p><p>“I thought you’d never read them,” Dean says. Sam presses his lips. “I pictured you sitting here, stubbornly looking at them but not touching them.”</p><p>Sam wants to laugh at how accurate that is. But Dean gave him too much credit, more than he deserves. He broke far too easily. </p><p>“Sammy,” Dean breathes, leans, nuzzles his nose into Sam’s hair, his hands sliding down Sam’s shoulders and resting on his arms. “Do you want to make another deal?” he asks. “What would it take?”</p><p>Sam licks his lips. “For sex?”</p><p>“For you to be mine,” Dean says. He kisses Sam’s hair, his grip tightening over Sam’s biceps. </p><p>
  <em> Nothing. I’m already yours. </em>
</p><p>He doesn’t say that, doesn’t say anything. Dean huffs.</p><p>“Is there nothing you want? I can give you anything.”</p><p>“You,” Sam counters, shrugging Dean’s hold and standing up to face him. “The real you. I want my brother back.”</p><p>“I am your brother!”</p><p>“You’re a demon!” Sam shouts, his chest heaving. He looks to the side because he can’t take the expression of hurt on Dean’s face, can’t confront the implications. </p><p>“Do you really hate me so much?” Dean asks. Sam whips his head up, his eyes wide. He shakes his head no. </p><p>“Dean, that’s not it. You know that’s not it.”</p><p>“I won’t turn back,” Dean says, <em> vows </em>. Vehement. </p><p>But Sam needs him back, will do whatever it takes to get him back even if it means Dean will hate him for it. He closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath.</p><p>“You said anything,” he tries one last time.</p><p>“Anything but that,” Dean answers. Sam nods, his throat constricts.</p><p>“Alright. I want us to go topside,” he says. “Drive around in the impala.”</p><p>“A drive,” Dean repeats. </p><p>“In the impala,” Sam reminds him. Dean laughs.</p><p>“Whatever. That’s it, a drive?” </p><p>“Yes, that’s it.”</p><p>Dean considers him for a long time, his gaze intense. He closes the space between them, cups Sam’s cheeks. “I get to have you first,” he whispers, their lips hovering so close to each other. Sam’s heart squeezes, his lids fall shut and he’s glad for it, because his eyes are stinging and he’s never wanted for it to be like this. </p><p>“You get to have me,” he echoes. </p><p>Dean slams into him, and they stumble back, Sam’s back collides with the bed and Dean lands on top of him, their lips fused. Dean kisses him with fiery violence, nothing like the kisses they shared on the bed. This kiss feels suitable for Hell, all flames and heat and dripping sin. The wrong of it, the way it explodes between them has Sam gasping under Dean, arching up into him and moaning.</p><p>He’s been craving this for years, seems like he’s never not wanted this and he hates himself for loving it now, when Dean isn’t completely himself. He tells himself he has to do this, that this isn’t for him but to save Dean. He repeats it as he spreads his legs and moans out, repeats it when he threads his fingers through Dean’s hair and pulls him into another kiss and repeats it again when he sucks Dean’s tongue into his mouth. </p><p>Above him, Dean moves like a storm, destructive and insistent. He grinds his hips down, litters Sam’s neck with harsh bites and bruising kisses. He shoves his hands under Sam’s t-shirt, palms hot and callused as they feel Sam's chest and rack his clothes up. Sam pushes into the touch, gasping out Dean’s name and helping him as he strips him off.</p><p>“Hell, Sammy,” Dean breathes, eyes roaming the newly bared skin with a hunger that Sam can’t help but respond to. He reaches up, tugs at Dean’s clothes and yanks the shirt down his arms then the under shirt up and off. </p><p>Dean’s hands slide down his flanks, settle near his waistband, his thumb rubbing just under it, over Sam’s hip bone and sending shivers all over Sam’s body. </p><p>Sam loses what little he has left of his sanity, the exquisite feeling of Dean's hands on him wipes away the guilt and leaves him with nothing but aching need and labored breaths. </p><p>"Dean," He calls out, desperate. His voice foreign to him, husky and needy and he's so far gone he doesn't care. Doesn't want to slow down enough to care. </p><p>Dean's sucking kisses down his belly, around his navel and along his happy trail, his chin bumping Sam's hard dick. He groans and Dean chuckles, fits his hands on Sam's hips and presses him down, keeps him in place. Then, Dean takes his dick down to the base, the pressure and heat of Dean's mouth makes him buck up, only to be held firmly. </p><p>He tries again just to feel a bit more helpless, just so Dean's fingers will dig harder and hopefully mark him. Dean's making these slurping sounds, bobbing his head and moaning around his mouthful, same obscene sounds he makes as he eats pie and Sam goes crazy with it. His hands spastic from how hard he's gripping the sheets, his head thrashing side to side on the pillow and he can't recognize the noises he's making. High pitched, inhuman, embarrassing gasps and moans. He's loud, louder than he thought he'd be. And of course it's Dean who can get this out of him, with his plump lips and wicked tongue and his appreciative hums. With the way his throat is spasming around Sam's dick as he swallows and hollows his cheeks. </p><p>Sam shouts Dean's name, too late a warning before his orgasm rocks through him. Dean chokes and coughs but he doesn't let go, only pulls back so the head rests on his mouth and drinks everything Sam has to offer.</p><p>Sam pants, blinks up at the ceiling, his heart hammering inside his chest, his afterglow rippling through him like waves of light and heat. </p><p>He's never felt so alive, so good. </p><p>Dean crawls between his legs, easily nudging them apart. He flicks his tongue on Sam's nipple and Sam moans and shivers. Dean's dick is hard and dripping against the inside of his thigh, and Sam's mouth waters thinking about returning the favour, imagining Dean's taste on the back of his tongue. </p><p>He lets out a needy whimper, and Dean steals it from his mouth with a kiss. Sam can do nothing but open up to him, allowing him to lick in and bite and do whatever he wants. </p><p>He won't ask for anything. This isn't for him. He'll enjoy what he gets because he's a sick fuck, but he won't use this chance to take. So as much as he wants to beg to suck Dean's dick, he doesn't. He keeps looking at Dean, hoping there's more his brother wants to do to him. </p><p>His brother. </p><p>He closes his eyes. </p><p>“Sammy,” Dean says, so soft it hurts. He kisses the round of Sam's shoulder, pushes his hard dick onto Sam's hardening one. </p><p>“Gonna fuck you,” he rasps. Sam bucks up, nods, offers his agreement with everything but words. Dean's on to him. He grips Sam's jaw, forces their eyes to lock. </p><p>“I know you want it,” he says, leaning closer, so his lips ghost over Sam's, so Sam craves another kiss like he's never got a taste before. “But you have to say it. Have to tell me.” A feather light kiss, barely a touch of lips. It ignites a ruinous hunger in Sam but he clamps his teeth against it. </p><p>“Don't mess with me, Sammy. Be a good boy and ask for it.” </p><p>Sam remains silent, his eyes burning and his dick fully hard again. He's trembling all over, worse than he did when he was fifteen and fumbling on a couch. Worse than when he was an addict and worse than earthquakes. Dean reaches to the nightstand, pulls the drawer open and retrieves a bottle of lube. He shakes it in front of Sam's face, leans in and kisses him again, a bit deeper. </p><p>“Come on, Sam, tell me you want it,” Dean whispers and he sounds desperate now, like he really needs to hear the words, like he would stop without them. “Please, Sammy. Please.” </p><p>Sam shatters. </p><p>“Dean,” he gasps, like he's drowning and this is his last breath. “Dean, I want you. Fuck me, I want you. Please, please, please.” </p><p>He repeats it over and over, pleas and Dean's name. Dean's nodding, kissing and shushing him as he lubes his fingers. </p><p>A finger breaches him and Sam moans without restraint. He's suddenly delirious, unhinged. Inside him, the blood boils and simmers, thunderous in his veins. Everything in him rising up, tuning in to Dean and he wants more, now. </p><p>“Dean, now. Now, I'm ready.” </p><p>Dean groans, pours lube directly on his hole and shoves two fingers in. He scissors them and screws, hitting just right and Sam's hips shoot off the bed, seeking more of that hot white pleasure. Dean's fingers fuck in, fast and hard and no way near enough and Sam whines and writhes and begs again. </p><p>“Dean, please. Fuck me, please.”</p><p>This time, Dean listens. He slicks his dick and lines up, and Sam barely sucks in a breath before Dean fucks it out of him, one hard shove and he's all the way in and the connection sizzles through him. </p><p>Searing pain and blinding pleasure and he's too wired to know how to react so be rocks into it, his fingers leaving the bunched-up sheets and scratching on Dean's arms, his shoulders then his back. The muscles heavy and gliding under his fingertips as Dean pulls back and fucks in. </p><p>Dean's hips are a force of their own, devastating and powerful. The way he moves, like he knows how to elicit every little gasp and sound, knows exactly how to roll in to make Sam shiver, how to angle to make him arch up and whine. A true maestro, using him to play the finest music. </p><p>Sam crumbles and is built anew and he knows beyond doubt that he'll never be the same again, never not feel Dean inside him, marking him forever. </p><p>Dean's, Dean's, Dean's. For real, for keeps, with teeth and fingers and cock. With soft lips and nips and tenderness. </p><p>“Sam, Sammy.” </p><p>Sam explodes. He sees stars, he hears songs, he feels Dean's warmth filling him. He knows he's forever ruined. </p><p>They pant into each other's mouths, sharing breathless kisses. Sloppy kisses, slow kisses. Kisses and more kisses. Sam falls asleep in Dean's arms, Dean's heart beating calm against his back. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>He wakes up to the humid feel of Dean's breath on his nape. Dean's arms around his waist and he burrows into it. </p><p>He wishes he doesn't have to end this. Actually thinks it might be a good idea to just give in. Stay with Dean in Hell, keep the Winchesters out of the world. Would that be so bad? </p><p>Then he remembers everything Dean's done for him, all the times he didn't give up on him and all the fucked up shit they went through to stay on the right track. And he can't. He owes it to Dean to fix him, bring him back.</p><p>He turns and for a second, he allows himself to pretend. He moves closer, touches his nose to Dean's collarbone, wonders what he'd have to give to wake up like this every morning. He closes his eyes and sighs and Dean's embrace tightens. </p><p>“Brooding so early?” He breathes into Sam's hair, plants a damp kiss there. </p><p>“You didn't do your part of the deal yet,” Sam says. Dean sighs and grips him harder. He rolls him to his back and settles between his legs, his grin big and his eyes distractingly green. </p><p>“After the morning rounds.” </p><p>“Rounds? With an S?”</p><p>Dean’s grin turns to something predatory and gorgeous and Sam wants to be eaten whole.</p><p>“Yes, Sammy. With an S.”</p><p>He kisses him. Sam closes his eyes and surrounders. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Dean has an unnatural stamina, and he leaves Sam exhausted after God knows how many orgasms he coaxes out of him. He plants a kiss on Sam’s temple before he heads to the door, tells him to sleep. </p><p>“I’ll get you for our drive tomorrow,” he promises. “For now, rest up. Shower, eat. Whatever you want.”</p><p>Sam hums at him, his eyes already fallen closed. He’s asleep before his next breath. </p><p>He wakes up alone. The enticing smell of roasted steaks reaches him and he sits up in bed and blinks sleep away. His stomach growls and he gets up, drags the chair and sits in front of the table, pulls the plates closer to him. </p><p>He’s so hungry he demolishes the food in less than five minutes, almost laughing at his appetite. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s eaten with such gusto. </p><p>There are new clothes for him folded on the other chair. A pair of socks and combat boots. He showers and dresses up, hides the knife and the cuffs and sits on the edge of the bed to wait for Dean. </p><p>He feels queasy, scared and hesitant. His mind keeps supplying him with different ways Dean would react to what happened between them while he was a demon after he’s healed and none of them is good. Each one is worse and admittedly, more dramatic than its precursor.</p><p>When Dean finally opens the door, Sam’s meal is making a strong threat of reappearing. </p><p>“You ready to go?”</p><p>Sam nods and stands. He casts a last look around the room before he meets Dean’s gaze. Dean’s looking at him with a weird expression, his smile enigmas and his eyes dim. A lump forms in Sam’s throat and he walks right to him, all promises of asking for nothing forgotten because this is his only chance. </p><p>He collides with Dean, pulls him in with arms around his neck and kisses him deep and filthy. Dean doesn’t ask, he opens up and lets himself be kissed, fingers threading through Sam’s hair and thigh slotting in between Sam’s. Sam can’t have this kiss forever but he tries. He clings and follows Dean everytime he breaks away, drawing him into another kiss.</p><p>Dean chuckles into it, turns his face and plants a soft peck on the corner of Sam’s mouth. “If you keep this up, I’ll keep you here forever.”</p><p>Sam closes his eyes, his breath stuck in his chest.</p><p>It doesn’t sound like a threat. </p><p>“Let’s go.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The car glints under the sunlight, the glare forces Sam to squint, his eyes tear up but it’s a welcome sight. When they’re close enough, Sam rounds on Dean, pulls the cuffs and wrestles him into them. </p><p>Dean fights and curses, but Sam’s got him. He pants the exertion away, and considers how he’ll get Dean into the car and properly settled when Crowley appears.</p><p>“I came to help,” he says, smile smarmy. Sam wants to refuse but he’s not in a place where that’s a smart move and he’s so tired. Crowley helps him get Dean into the back seat. And when Sam drives away, he sees him waving in the rearview mirror.</p><p>It’s a struggle to get Dean into their dungeon and tied to a chair over a devil’s trap. Not only because Dean fights him tooth and nail every step of the way, but because Sam has to keep talking himself into it. Keep convincing himself that this is the right thing, that his time with Dean was a bad thing that he shouldn’t have gotten to experience and it’s damn hard.  </p><p>He shuts off Dean’s threats and curses and hateful words, these only remind him that the creature he’s facing isn’t his brother. It’s when Dean starts pleading that his hands tremble with every blood shot he injects into Dean’s forearm. When Dean speaks of sweet times together and heat trapped under the sheets and a promise of intoxicating kisses. </p><p>The last syringe, filled with blood is held between his fingers when Dean says:</p><p>“Don’t I at least get a goodbye kiss?”</p><p>Sam nearly messes up. But thankfully, the needle finds its way into Dean’s vein and Sam pushes the piston. He sighs in relief as he murmurs the last phrases of latin that will get him his brother back. </p><p>Dean convulses, seizuring against his ties before he screams and falls unconscious. Panic rises up in Sam’s chest and he grabs at Dean’s face. Cupping its side and shaking him.</p><p>“Wake up, wake up. Come back, Dean.”</p><p>Dean’s lids flutter and Sam moves back and down so he’s on his knees in front of Dean. Like a sinner waiting for judgement because that’s what he is.</p><p>Dean’s eyes open up, impossibly green and clear, and Sam doesn’t need the holy water he throws to confirm that he’s gotten his brother back. Dean’s expression falls and Sam crumbles forward. He bows down, presses his forehead to Dean’s thigh and gasps.</p><p>“I’m so sorry, Dean, I’m so sorry. I had no other way. I’m sorry.” His chest is caving in, his bones are liquid fire, and his insides are quivering. He’s babbling apologies and excuses and things he doesn’t even register.</p><p>“Sam,” Dean says, his voice like a beacon in a dark night. “Untie me.”</p><p>Sam obeys without thought. Stretches his arms behind the chair and unties Dean. He keeps his head ducked, sitting on his haunches and not daring to move. </p><p>Gentle hands cup his face and Dean lifts his head up, forcing him to meet his eyes. Dean’s gaze is scrutinizing, focused and scary. Like he’s studying Sam’s face, and whatever he might find is the answer to every question of the universe. </p><p>He brushes his thumb under Sam’s eye, pushes his hair back with his other hand. Leans in until their foreheads touch.</p><p>“Are you really? Are you sorry?”</p><p>Sam’s breath shudders. He closes his eyes, feels Dean’s damp breath on his lips. </p><p>Is he sorry?</p><p>“I am,” he breathes. Opens his eyes. </p><p>Dean’s expression is pained, his lips pressed in a thin line. He makes to move his hands but Sam catches them, keeps them on his face. His heart beats loud and hard and his ears ring.</p><p>“I’m sorry that you were a demon, and I took advantage. But I’m still happy I got to feel that,” his voice breaks, his eyes sting but he doesn’t look away from Dean. “Do you want me to leave?”</p><p>Dean’s breath hitches. His eyes dart between Sam’s before he lunges forward. The kiss knocks all the remaining air out of Sam’s lungs, heated and life-changing and Sam surges to meet it, relief pulsing through him. He surrenders to it completely, giving everything he has kissing Dean back. </p><p>Dean’s soft laugh breaks the kiss enough time for him to whisper.</p><p>“I never want you to leave, Sammy.”</p><p>And Sam understands. These are the only words he needs. He nods, their lips brushing together and he tips his chin up and closes his eyes. </p><p>They kiss again, perfect and fitting. Like stars aligning and cheesy love songs. </p><p>“I never want you to leave, too.” Sam says. </p><p>The smile Dean hides against his lips tells him Dean gets it. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>-End. </p><p> </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Merry Christmas, Y'all. Thanks for reading. All kudos and comments are welcome, appreciated and celebrated please leave me some.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>